


A Satisfying Punishment

by enthusiasticinformedfragging



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Post-The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye Issue 38 (IDW), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasticinformedfragging/pseuds/enthusiasticinformedfragging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commission for GunThatShootsEnnui. Post-MTMTE-#38, Perceptor realizes exactly how much he'd underestimated Brainstorm--and he wants to be punished for it.</p><p>Brainstorm's only interested in punishing Percy if it's fun for both parties. And he always makes the best toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Satisfying Punishment

Brainstorm looked down at the snapped chain that had once tethered him to the hope of a brighter future. For all his centuries of work, he’d gotten a ten-second glimpse of the mech he’d loved and lost—and then  _nothing_.

He clenched his hands into fists. At least Chromedome had Rewind back, even though that meant he definitely wouldn’t be getting any visitors; as Chromedome had so kindly pointed out, he didn’t exactly have many friends. Like with Quark, most of his relationships were, well, more one-way deals. The most he could hope for with Percy was a quick frag and ten reassurances that it didn’t mean anything.

Of course that hadn’t stopped Brainstorm from hopping into berth with him. For all that he criticised Chromedome for falling too hard and fast, he really wasn’t any better. At least he  _remembered_ , though, no matter how much it hurt.

It’d be a tragedy to forget what Perceptor looked like when he got elbow-deep into an explanation. Nobody else could keep up with him—Rodimus and the rest always cut him off. But Brainstorm? Oh, he could listen to Percy for  _joors_. Of course, that was kinda embarrassing and sappy, so he always peppered their conversations with digs to distract him.

Percy was about as smart as a mech got, though. He probably saw right through him. Well, at least he didn’t use it to make him look like a fool in front of everybody else. He had plenty of other ways to do that.

Running a servo against the chain, Brainstorm curled in on himself. He’d never been any good at aiming for what was probable—or even possible.

Just when he was working himself up to a really good pity party, he heard footsteps heading his way. He debated the pros and cons of continuing his pity party anyway and ignoring whoever wanted to harass the ‘decepticon’ versus keeping any shred of dignity he still had in front of the crew.

Yeah, they’d seen him point a gun at Megatron’s chest and  _still_ not manage to pull the trigger, even though he’d bragged for months that his motto was ‘see a trigger; squeeze a trigger.’ His cred was gone. Let the pity party continue.

A decision he regretted the moment he actually looked up at his visitor. “Percy?” Frag, his voice sounded all staticky from the crying he’d been doing. Ugh, not the impression he wanted to make.

“Brainstorm.” Calm, collected, and gorgeous as ever. Not fragging fair. “May I have a moment of your time?”

***

Perceptor had sufficient experience with Brainstorm to recognize the hesitation and nervousness in his optics. He braced himself, preparing to be turned away.

“Yeah, sure.” Brainstorm’s gaze fell, and he picked at the chain on his wrist. “Whatever.”

This time Perceptor was the one to hesitate. He’d rehearsed what he planned to say before coming down to the brig, but he’d been expecting Brainstorm to be—well, the proud braggart he’d always been. He’d just accomplished a feat of science beyond anything Perceptor had even imagined; he was well within his rights to brag.

So starting the conversation by throwing Brainstorm off-track with a well-timed compliment wouldn’t have any effect whatsoever. There was no speech to divert; Brainstorm just looked defeated.

Perceptor’s spark pinched uncomfortably in his chest. “I,” he began, then reset his vocalizer. “It seems that I’ve somehow developed more than just physical attraction toward you,” he said. Hopefully the bluntness would rattle Brainstorm out of his—his current predicament. “In light of recent events, I had thought it best to inform you of my newly discovered emotional attachment.”

Brainstorm’s optics snapped up to meet his, and he looked away, feeling sheepish. He’d heard about Brainstorm’s motivations, of course—Rewind had been arguing for his release from the brig with increasingly persuasive evidence ever since he’d been locked up.

“Although this may be somewhat inappropriate given that you are likely mourning, I—” He hesitated, resetting his vocalizer again. In a softer voice—one he hoped would convey some level of fondness—he continued, “I wanted to extend an offer of—of companionship and support.”

Brainstorm’s optics narrowed with disbelief. “Say again?”

Perceptor vented slowly, reaching for patience. “You know very well what I said. You are about the only one who  _listens_ to me these days.”

“Guess I am.” Brainstorm’s voice sounded distant. “Pit if I understand why.”

“Well, it’s probably because you’re the ship’s genius.”

“Damn right, I am,” Brainstorm said, puffing out his chest—and it was enough that Perceptor’s composure shattered, leaving him with a grin wider than he’d ever shared with his colleague.

“That sounds more like my Brainstorm,” Perceptor said.

“Didn’t know you  _could_ smile like that.” Brainstorm’s voice was so awed that Perceptor could feel heat rising in his faceplates. “You’re not yanking my chain, then?”

“I assure you that I am completely sincere.”

And there it was—the mischievous, hopeful glint in those yellow optics that had so often left his spark spinning. Beneath the facemask, Brainstorm was surely grinning. “Y’know what? Some company would be great.”

“Good.” Perceptor settled down just beyond the bars of his cell so that they were at approximately the same level. “Hopefully you won’t mind me congratulating you on your fine invention,” he said. “No one else on this ship _appreciates_ genius like that. I really must know how you managed it. It was brilliant.”

Not, however, as brilliant as the smile Brainstorm offered him in return for the praise.

***

Brainstorm knew Percy’s schedule better than he would’ve admitted to anyone on the Lost Light; he could tell that he was coming down to the brig literally every chance he got. But Percy’d never given Brainstorm more than a few breems of his valuable time and attention before—not even for the quick and dirty frags he’d initiated before, well, everything. He’d definitely avoided priming Brainstorm’s ego by treating him like an equal.

So Brainstorm kept waiting for the other pede to drop.

But a decaorn passed, and Perceptor’s petition was the one to finally free him from the brig. They went on an  _actual date_ to Swerve’s, where Percy held Brainstorm’s hand and bought him drinks and smiled when the crew catcalled them and walked him back to his habsuite after. Not for a quick frag, but for a kiss good night.

It had hit him like a million volts right to the spark. When Percy turned to go, the words just slipped out: “I’ve got a mouth, y’know.”

Percy turned back and arched an optic ridge at him. Suddenly the offer to kiss him back sounded like something a lot more lewd.

“For kissing,” he clarified. “I didn’t get to kiss you good night, and that’s what you do when you’re dating someone, right?” The other optic ridge climbed to meet the other, and Brainstorm nearly retreated into his habsuite out of embarrassment. “This—this was a bona fide date, after all. So that means we’re dating, right?” Keep digging that hole, Brainstorm. Maybe he’d breach the hull and eject himself into space to escape this one-sided conversation. “So get back here and lemme give you a smooch already, sheesh.”

He knew he wasn’t exactly a looker under the mask, but it was too late to back out—Perceptor was on his way back, something suspiciously like a smirk dancing around the corners of his lips.

Couldn’t have  _that_. He’d have to kiss that smirk right off his face.

Once he’d retracted his mask, though, he hesitated. There Percy was being goddamn gorgeous, still smirking and making his fragging spark flutter like some silly newbuild—

“I thought your intention was to kiss me,” Percy said drily.

Brainstorm reached out and cupped one servo against Percy’s cheek. “Gettin’ there. Gimme a klik.”

He ran a thumb under the scope covering Perceptor’s left optic. Incredible craftsmanship. He’d seen the specs—it gave him the kind of pinpoint accuracy that could destroy enemy troops’ formations without even kicking on his cooling fans. It also looked hotter than anything.

Brainstorm tightened his grip on Perceptor and pulled him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “A meeting of the greatest minds of our time,” he joked.

Perceptor rolled his eyes, but the smirk softened into something tender and fond, and Brainstorm couldn’t resist the magnetic pull across those last few micrometers.

It’d been vorns—thousands of vorns—since he kissed anyone, but he didn’t remember it feeling like—like  _this_. The first tentative touches sent charge flooding his frame, and then Percy’s hand was holding the base of his neck and pressing  _closer_ , nearly pinning him against his own habsuite door.

Brainstorm grinned.  _This_ was a game two could play.

He grabbed Perceptor’s waist with his free hand and brought their hips flush. Charge arced between them, crackling directly against his modesty panels. Percy retaliated by biting at his lower lip—as if trying to remind him that Percy had run with the Wreckers, as if Brainstorm could  _forget_ —and the gentle good night kiss devolved into a heated battle for dominance.

Brainstorm’s hand slid from Percy’s waist to his aft, and he  _grabbed_ , pressing up against the warm frame as both their cooling fans clicked on in sync— _simpatico_.

Every micrometer of his plating burned with need. He wanted—he  _wanted_ —and Percy gave and took as good as he got.

He’d aimed for the impossible and done one better. “I got a habsuite right here,” Brainstorm said, pressing his lips to Perceptor’s audial. “If you wanna come in.”

Perceptor’s hand flew to the keypad and punched in the code without so much as a glance. “We’ll have to discuss ground rules if we want this to last. Communication is the foundation of a strong relationship.”

And the reminder that this wasn’t one of their quick and dirty frags—the reminder that this was actually real—just made Brainstorm grin as he yanked Percy through the door.

***

Brainstorm grinned up at Perceptor from where he lay pinned against the berth. “So did you want to talk, or did you want to  _talk_?”

The latter was accompanied by a hand grabbing Perceptor’s aft, which made it admittedly more appealing than the former. However, if they were to be significant others—and Perceptor dearly hoped they would—clear verbal communication was imperative.

It still took a great deal more effort than he anticipated to roll sideways and face Brainstorm on equal footing.

“One kind can lead to the other,” he answered. “First of all, although we’ve shared a few interfacing experiences prior to now, we never debriefed after the fact.” He hesitated. “Actually, I don’t believe I ever inquired closely into your berthroom preferences.”

Brainstorm’s optics focused sharply on Perceptor’s. “Not really, no.”

Perceptor looked away, guilt gnawing at his spark. “I apologize for my poor treatment of you in the past. I misjudged your character for quite some time.”

“Then why’d you wanna ‘face me?”

Perceptor arched an optic ridge at him. “I underestimated your cunning, your genius, and your emotional depth, but that did not make me blind to your physical attributes. I have always found you attractive.”

Brainstorm’s gaze swept from pede to helm, and his field warmed with desire. “So now that you’ve stopped underestimating my other charms, how do you want me?”

Splayed out on the berth, hands still crossed above his helm, he made it  _very_ difficult to focus. “I know that I took on a rather dominating role in our past encounters—” His vocalizer fritzed as Brainstorm reached up to stroke his shoulder-mounted scope. Pleasure washed through him, driving thought from his processor. He shuttered his optics against Brainstorm’s smirk. “—but I thought a change of pace…?”

The hand on his scope stilled. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I feel incredibly guilty about my mistreatment of you,” he confessed in a rush. “I was hoping that you could perhaps discipline me.”

Brainstorm’s optics narrowed. “If you want me to smack you around because you feel bad, I’m not doing it. If you want me to smack you around so you feel _good_ , that’s another story. Which is it?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” Perceptor replied. “I think a punishment would help me emotionally, and I also believe I’d enjoy it physically.”

The hand on his scope slid down to knead his back. “All right. Sounds like a good time to me, then. What kinda punishment would get you off?”

His face heated, and he fought the urge to hide it in the crook of Brainstorm’s neck. “No damage serious enough to take to Ratchet,” he said. “Beyond that, I would rather it be at your discretion.”

“So you want a surprise, huh?” Brainstorm’s optics got that speculative look that meant physics should brace itself. “I can do that. You want it to hurt?”

To his embarrassment, his cooling fans kicked on. “Yes.”

“If we’re gonna do this right, I’m gonna need a decaorn to prep.” Brainstorm’s thoughtful expression slid into a mischievous grin as he refocused on Perceptor. “That’ll give me time to pick your brain and get  _ideas_.”

Perceptor huffed. “And what about tonight?”

“Well, I always did hear that I should leave ‘em wanting more.” He laughed at Perceptor’s dismay and knocked their foreheads together again. “But that doesn’t sound like half as much fun as what I’m gonna do with you.”

***

Between fragging the bolts off of Perceptor twice an orn and keeping up appearances, it was practically miraculous that Brainstorm actually managed to finish all of his  _personal projects_ on schedule. He rubbed his servos together with glee after he’d finished setting up his habsuite.

He made the best toys. Perceptor was gonna have the time of his  _life_.

And there was the door chime! Time to get into character.

“Password?” he asked, settling into the sharper, more authoritative bite he’d used when leading projects on Kimia.

Through the intercom, Perceptor’s voice was tinny. “Aequitas.”

Good. He remembered the safeword. Brainstorm opened the door and motioned for him to enter. As he’d hoped, Perceptor’s optics immediately snapped to his toys.

“Optics off,” Brainstorm said. “Kneel.”

Perceptor obeyed so quickly that it had to be instinctive. Brainstorm took his time walking around Perceptor in an appreciative circle, taking a visceral satisfaction in the abrupt click of cooling fans coming to life.

For someone like Perceptor, the process of leaving thought behind would have to be taken in increments—strip away sensory input layer by layer until he could only  _accept_. That was where the appeal lay for him, as best Brainstorm had gathered.

“Forgiveness has to be earned.”

Brainstorm turned to his toys and drew out a vocal inhibitor that would leave Percy wordless—something that he’d confessed an interest in when Brainstorm needled at him. It was the work of a klik to force Perceptor’s chin up and strap the collar to his neck.

[[Private commline’s active,]] he pinged, checking the frequency. [[Use the safeword if you need it.]]

Perceptor nodded weakly against his hand, already going slack. Brainstorm grinned and stroked his chin with one thumb. His optics flickered on, and Brainstorm tutted.

“No self-control,” he chided. He reached back to the table to pick out a special inhibitor. “That’s why you came to me, though, isn’t it?”

This inhibitor stuck to the back of Perceptor’s neck, digging into a particularly sensitive bundle of wires. As Brainstorm snapped it into place, Perceptor’s optics offlined with an audible click. It would also keep his interfacing panels and spark chamber locked down no matter how heated things got—no temptation to push boundaries in the middle of their first scene.

Perceptor vented heavily as Brainstorm ran a servo along his cheek, his throat, his chest, his frame practically vibrating with arousal. Good—emotional catharsis was great and all, but he wanted this to be  _fun_.

***

The soft hand against Perceptor’s chest shoved him backwards, pinning him flat against the floor. He pushed up against it automatically, struggling to regain an unexposed position—a position from which he could defend himself—and stasis cuffs stilled his hands.

“Struggle all you want, Perce.” Brainstorm’s voice dropped to a lower register than usual. “I’ve got you. Right now, you’re  _mine_.”

Perceptor shuddered as charge rocked through his frame. He tried to online his optics as the heat of Brainstorm’s frame drew closer.

“And I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” Brainstorm murmured against Perceptor’s audial. “I can do  _whatever the hell I like._ ”

It felt as if a switch had been flipped within him; he went immediately limp beneath Brainstorm’s hands. Trust or faith, he couldn’t say. Like forgiveness, trust had to be earned.

Either way, he imagined that this was what flying felt like.

“Very good.” His voice was rich with appreciation; the hand traced a searing line down Perceptor’s chassis, not allowing him the slightest movement. “Just like that.”

If his voice had always been so—so  _sweet_  and  _caring_  and  _reassuring_ , Perceptor had never noticed. The heady press of a commanding and confident EM field against his own left him dizzy; he tipped his helm up to expose his neck in a show of submission.

“Oh, is there something you want?”

‘Yes,’ Perceptor tried to say, but only static got through the vocal inhibitor.

Brainstorm laughed. “Aw, Perce, sweetspark, didn’t I tell you?” The hand at his hips pinched a sensitive bundle of wires, provoking another burst of static from Perceptor’s voxcoder. “Forgiveness has to be earned. You’re gonna have to _work_ for it.”

Brainstorm shoved Perceptor onto his front with enough force that he groaned static. He made out the sound of the cuffs clicking—locking into place, possibly a magnetic attachment—before a hand came down to press against one of his audials, and silence flooded the room.

In the darkness and silence and stillness, Perceptor experienced the gentle pressure of fingers stroking his audials, the heavy warmth of Brainstorm’s weight pinning him to the floor, the charge of his own heated systems and overtaxed cooling fans. Denied sensory input, his entire frame craved  _more_.

Brainstorm’s other hand crept up to stroke Perceptor’s scope. The tip of one finger circled the lens with just shy of enough pressure to scratch. It was pleasure bordering on pain, but Perceptor couldn’t arch into the touch—couldn’t respond. The precision in Brainstorm’s touch spoke of extensive research, and another layer of Perceptor’s worry peeled away under the care of such skilled hands.

He was so preoccupied with the finger against his lens that he didn’t notice the one against his audial slip away, pressing against the back of his neck before withdrawing altogether.

Then a sharp smack left his aft stinging. He couldn’t hear his systems whining, but they strained toward that point of contact as warmth and pleasure spread in its wake.

The hand came down again, this time to squeeze his aft rather than strike it. He fought to push up into the pressure, the possessive heat of Brainstorm’s EM field, but Brainstorm had him pinned by the scope—he had leverage. He had full control.

“Please,” Perceptor begged, but he couldn’t even hear the static that surely resulted. “ _Please_.”

The hand retreated after one final squeeze. Perceptor braced himself eagerly for another strike, but nothing came. At least the vocal inhibitor would silence the undignified whine that came from the hand’s absence.

“Please,” he tried again. Maybe Brainstorm would take pity on the static. “Brainstorm, please,  _please_.”

This time the blow  _burned_. Perceptor’s optics watered automatically, and the heat behind his interface panels grew nearly intolerable. Some new toy—the blow had been too brief for a proper analysis, but if Brainstorm had designed it, it was likely all bark and no bite.

He’d said nothing that required a trip to Ratchet, and Brainstorm was good enough to keep that end of the bargain. The sensation was harmless—

 _Oh_ , it burned. Perceptor would have whimpered if he’d had access to his vocalizer. In its wake, tendrils of charge crackled against his armor. A scent not unlike ozone made him press his face to the floor. The lubricant building up behind the locked panel to his valve had probably begun to leak out and begun sizzling from the heat.

A soothing hand relaxed the tensed cables of his back, reassuring and commanding all at once, and Perceptor sagged as he relinquished even the pretense of control.

Then the searing blow struck again—harder this time, driving needles of perfect, ecstatic pain through his back and into his giddy spark.

“More,” he pleaded. The static would take his moans, but Brainstorm would know—Brainstorm would understand what he needed. “ _Please_ , more.”

For a long, still moment, Perceptor waited.

But Brainstorm knew. Of course he knew. After that interminable moment, hands guided Perceptor to sit on his heels, bound hands stretched before him. The sudden loss of pressure holding him down left him reeling, overwhelmed with the too-thin air supporting him.

A gentle touch against his back was his only warning before the next blow fell. Not stinging or burning—something heavy and brutal and  _grounding_ , so perfect that he could barely keep himself from pushing back against its weight to demand  _more_.

Unlike the sharp, biting blows from before, these came rhythmically, forcing all remaining tension from his frame. Steady and purposeful, the pain swelled into something as solid and sure as a massage, a blanket, the press of a partner against his back. No pauses to gather his thoughts—just sensation.

He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the berth for support as his trembling knees refused to hold him up, and still the blows came.

Peace such as he hadn’t known in vorns settled on him like condensation. He knew with a fierce and sudden surety that Brainstorm  _had_  him, that he could release his carefully managed control and be  _taken_ and still be safer than he’d felt since before the war.

“I’m yours.” The words wouldn’t reach Brainstorm, but it somehow seemed important to try. “I’m so sorry. I’m  _so_ sorry.” He sobbed with relief, pressing his face into the berth. He wouldn’t have been able articulate his gratitude and joy and adoration even with full access to his voxcoder. “Thank you.”

***

Brainstorm kept an audial on Percy’s whimpering. This far in subspace, he wouldn’t think of the commlink—might not even think of the safe word. Which was exactly why he’d removed the muter as soon as he’d switched off Percy’s audials. The freedom from words without the risk.

One of his more ingenious ideas, Brainstorm thought. Especially listening to the hitched pleading and gasping and moaning before him.

“I’m yours,” Perceptor sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m  _so_ sorry.”

“Oh, Perce.” Brainstorm kept up the pace but got ready to pull back at the first sign of genuine discomfort. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

Perceptor keened, burying his face in the berth padding. It was the high, desperate sound of  _need_ , and it was all Brainstorm could do to keep his form steady. Perceptor looked  _gorgeous_ like this.

And suddenly a torrent of gratitude started spilling from Perceptor’s lips.  _Thank you_ s and  _you’re so good_ s and  _for the love of science, please don’t stop_ s broke through the static of arousal. Brainstorm could actually see the charge flaring between Percy’s transformation seams.

With the hand not drumming against Perceptor’s back, he reached for the wicked, electrical implement he’d used earlier. It would need perfect timing to work, but—thud, thud, thud,  _whack_.

Expecting the dull, heavy weight of the second flogger and instead getting stung with a few thousand volts, Perceptor screamed his overload.

***

When Perceptor came back online, it took him a moment to figure out how to restart his optics and audials and vocalizer. The inhibitors had apparently been removed while he was offline, as had the stasis cuffs.

He twisted around groggily, trying to work out how much time had passed, and a gentle hand ran down his side.

“I’ve got you, Percy.” Brainstorm’s voice rumbled against his back, relaxing him at once. “You did great. Beautiful. Gorgeous.”

Perceptor flushed with pride. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, his voice still raw and laced with static.

“I had a  _great_ time, Perce.” Brainstorm pushed up closer to him, hauling him into a full-body hug. “How’re you feeling? Achy?”

“Sticky,” Perceptor answered. His interface panels had remained locked, but lubricant had escaped to slick his thighs. “Surprisingly, I find no lingering discomfort from your implements.”

“That’s because I’m a genius.” Brainstorm pressed a kiss to the back of his helm. “We can get washed up in a joor or two.”

“Is there a reason to delay?”

“Sweetspark, I love you, but I can’t carry your aft all the way to the washracks with the workout my arms just got.” Brainstorm continued kissing him, drawing a line down his neck and over his back. “And I fragging well know that you’re not gonna be able to walk after an overload like that.”

Perceptor onlined his vocalizer to protest, then thought it over. “Admittedly, my lower extremities are somewhat—tingly.”

Brainstorm laughed at the description, just as he’d hoped.

“Cuddles it is, then.”


End file.
